


Breakdown

by Vimini



Series: My boys [3]
Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Friday the 13th: The Game (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Altered Mental States, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vimini/pseuds/Vimini
Summary: How the slashers deal with their s/o's mental break down.
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/Reader, Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawyer/Reader, Leatherface | Thomas Brown Hewitt/Reader, Michael Myers/Reader
Series: My boys [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596892
Comments: 5
Kudos: 146





	1. Breakdown PT-1

**Jason Voorhees:**

♦ It was becoming so cold outside, way colder than it has ever been in the city, the wind howled outside, making you aware of just how alone you were in this very moment.

♦ Jason was still outside, hunting a pair of drug dealers that wanted to make the old camp ground their hideout for the season, you heard gunshots and that was probably why it was taking so long.

♦ Guns couldn’t kill your zombie, but sure as hell made his job this much harder to complete, especially if they hit his head.

♦ You knew that he would come back any time soon, yet your body shivered even with the fire still burning strong in it’s stone nest. The old wood around you creaked, groaned, like an old man, it’s bones threatening to crumble under any pressure.

♦ And you gasped, shivering at the thought of this whole thing caving in on you, burying you under the rubble, splinters adding to your pain as you drawled your last breath.

♦ It wouldn’t fall and even if it did, Jason was close enough to get you out of the ruins before you died. At least you tried to assure yourself that he was and that he wouldn’t even need to, a nervous laughter escaping your clenched throat.

♦ You were alone.

♦ Alone and scared.

♦ Like all those helpless nights at your home, trapped in your room, too afraid to move from it, still hearing the thuds and screams of your family arguing, your eyes red from tears, panic building in your tiny heart.

♦ And there was nobody to cry to. No one would help you.

♦ Your breathing hiked as you clenched the soft material of your sweater, similar to the one Jason put at Pamela’s shrine.

♦ She died alone too, was she as scared as you were this night?

♦ Your body shook, mind going hazy, trying to remember the mantra of “I’m fine, he’s going to come back, I’m loved, there’s nothing to fear.” until it broke.

♦ You weren’t fine, you were alone in an empty old house, surrounded by the roaring of an incoming storm, and the man who was supposed to be with you tonight was bleeding far from you, struggling to murder people, who wandered where they shouldn’t have and you were pissed. Not at Jason, never at him, but at those two men. It was their fault you were so scared, left without comfort.

♦ Or was it your fault for being too weak to handle some stronger wind? It was that, wasn’t it?

♦ “Oh god…” you whimpered, feeling your heart rise to your throat, unsure of why it wandered there anyways, it should be in your chest. “No, no. “ There was this familiar feeling of anxiety building up where your heart was before, as if it moving opened a door for something buried deep inside. “Please…” and when the tears rolled down your cheeks it was already too late.

♦ Three times you breathed, each time more encumbered, suffocating on air that was supposed to bring you life, your face flooding with the saltiness that your eyes produced in overabundance. Your hands shook and you could focus only on that, all your emotions becoming a blur, a swirling mess in your overstimulated brain.

♦ It wasn’t a quiet night, yet everything seemed to still when a tormented shriek left your mouth. A noise that you couldn’t hear, not anymore, lost in the newly found panic.

♦ Your eyes were wide open, but you saw nothing, every new memory your senses tried to create vanishing in milliseconds. Your own body shutting down, making you unaware of the humongous figure that kicked the door in, entering in a hurry.

♦ The throat that usually let you speak fluently was collapsing, only letting small groans and quieter shrieks leave, and you placed your hands on it, gasping for air, trying to fight the thing choking you, oblivious to the fact it was your mind refusing to calm your self down. 

♦ There was a sudden pressure on your shoulders and you shut your swollen eyelids, kicking and screaming at whatever was trying to hold you down, each thrust meeting with something hard and solid.

♦ Then you were forced onto the bed, the same thing that was holding you down now wrapping all around you, refusing to budge despite your nails digging into it, something warm covering your agitated fingers. Panicking as something lowered itself next to your head with a pained groan.

♦ And finally your movements slowed, your suffocating lungs bursting with a sudden surge of air, eyes lazily regaining focus, making your head ache with the flood of information your brain was collecting again. Just as quickly as it began, it was over and you whimpered softly, tired hands flopping down from whatever it was that they were elevated on

♦ Another whimper and one moan of confusion as you let your palms cover your eyes and massage the exhausted skin around them. The thing on you expanding and shrinking dreadfully slow.

♦ You looked up to see what in the hell it was. Your heart shattered.

♦ Jason’s bright eye was looking down at you, his crooked lips quivering in fear, hairless brow furrowed, huge hands reaching up to your visage, a terrified smile rising on his own as he realized that you can finally see him. He was shaking. Trembling as he lowered himself onto you, making it hard to breathe once more, but this time it was a welcome sensation. 

♦ A soft whimper echoed in your head, coming from the undead relaxing onto you, as you look at your still warm finger tips, blood drying on them, just how it was on his neck and back from wounds that you opened.

♦ The realization that hit you couldn’t be more heartbreaking, as you understood what happened piece by piece.

♦ You blacked out in panic, screamed and he heard you, he came to you and was welcomed by your own self clawing at your now red forearms, so he tried to stop you the only way he knew how to, sacrificing himself so you would be fine. 

♦ “ Oh, Jason.” you whispered, your palms finding his bald, uneven head. He shook slightly with a sharp intake of air. “ I am SO sorry, oh my darling.” a cry escaped you, the salty trails returning, but he was much the same, trembling and swallowing his own quiet cry.

♦ His hands tightened around your waist and you curled up to sit and hug his sobbing head, shielding his exposed face from the world around him.

♦ “I was… Jason I am so… I’m horrible, this must’ve been so scary…” you whimper and he shakes his head almost aggressively, glad that you’re fine now, that you calmed down and that he could’ve been there to help you, that he was useful to you in at least this way.

♦ “God, I love you so much. Please forgive me.” His breath shakes at your self-flagellating words and he rises, love and worry mixing on his face as he coups your own, leaning in to kiss your pouting lips, you returning his soft comfort in kind.

♦ Don’t even try to thank him, this is the least he can do for you, to somehow repay you for loving him, despite his disgusting face and his uncomfortable silence.

♦ Both of you were shivering in each other’s arms, unable to voice how precious you were, how much you loved every single thing about each other, a pair of idiots, fools in love.

**Thomas Hewitt:**

♦ Not every day in the Hewitt’s house was good, you knew that. Your first day there, for example, was terrifying to say the least and life changing to be an optimist about the disaster that was your initiation into the family, not as a member yet, but as a honored quest. 

♦ So yes, not everything was always perfect, Luda Mae could sometimes be a nag and Monty was a pervert to say the least. Thomas turned out to be an absolute angel though, or a very polite devil if you considered some situations, pulling away at his dark feathers.

♦ But Charlie, no, Hoyt, **oh Hoyt.** He was something else, alright.

♦ You’ve grown used to him bossing everybody around, crowning himself the man of the house, even though that tittle should be rightfully given to Thomas.

♦ But there was one thing that you couldn’t get used to, a nasty quirk, bringing back way too many unwanted memories, flashes of the past that you swore you had repressed strong enough to never meet with again.

♦ That gross, old, saggy ball sack was one hell of an abuser.

♦ Everybody else in the house was aware of your bad mood these past few days, even Monty, that bastard, that son of a gun, had brought you tea on multiple occasions, knowing it calmed your nerves ever so slightly.

♦ But Charlie was oblivious to anyone’s problem, but his own.

♦ And he had a problem, alright. The problem with “YOU BEING A FAT, LAZY BITCH THAT CAN’T EVEN BRING A MAN THE RIGHT FUCKING BELT!”, as he roared in your ear way too loudly, gaining him the attention of other co-habitats.

♦ “Charlie!” Luda wanted to stop his words, but it was already too late, his motor has started. 

♦ “Don’t CHARLIE me! I’m sick and tired of this WHORE slacking off and just slumping around all damned day! Tell ya what, sweetie.” he spat through his teeth, poking you in the shoulder, hard enough for it too hurt. “If not for our boy, I’d have you made into a delicious batch of Lard, since that’s what you already fukin’ are! A dumb lard ass!” he growled, this time shoving you back.

♦ “God damn it, Charlie! Leave the poor girl alone!” the old woman pressed him, but he just waved her off, crossing his veiny arms under his non-existent pecs.

♦ “A GOOD FOR NOTHING!” his voice echoed in your head. “STUPID, DISRESPECTFUL!” Another whispered a scream much similar from the back of your head. “LAZY PIG!” Hoyt’s voice sounded again in a snarl. “FUCKING RETARDED IDIOT!” the same one called back in your mind, this time closer.

♦ “SHOULDA KILLED YA THE FIRST CHANCE I GOT!” The oldest Hewitt roared and again the voice in your head was anxious to answer. “A WASTE OF LIFE AND NOTHING MORE!” 

♦ And with that the thin string in your brain snapped, letting a horde of unwanted demons out and about your mind, your eyes shooting up to meet Hoyt’s something in the way you gazed making him catch whatever words were trying to roll off his tongue, his wrinkly head tilting and shaggy gray brows furrowing in a silent question, letting his bewilderment show.

♦ “shut up…” you let out a sigh, shoulders tensing, backed against an ancient wall. The sheriff’s eyes widening in rage.

♦ “Whadya say to me, ya little shit?” he growled and you let your vision coat in red, letting rage triumph against other emotions.

♦ “ I said, shut. The. FUCK! UP!” You screamed in his face, grabbing the unplugged lamp on the stool next to you and smashing it against his head, making him tumble at the sudden impact, Luda Mae and Monty gasping and groaning, you weren’t sure which one did which. “You fucker… you piece of shit, disgusting asshole.” words flew out of your mouth in abundance, tone shifting between a whisper and rage-full roars, hands shaking with the offending item still in your grip, a crooked smile erupting on your face as you noticed the sudden fear in the old man’s eyes. “You boss us all around like you’re tough shit but without us ya’d be nothing!” you hiss, stepping towards him, holding the lamp in both hands, smashing it against his covering arm, shattering the glass of the bulb. “YOU DISGUST ME!” you scream, body read to fall on top of him and smash the object against his face.

♦ “(Y/N)!! Child, stop! Oh God!” Luda Mae cried out and you looked towards her, your brain giving you a moment of clarity, stopping your movements so you could consider what was happening and you were about to listen, when Hoyt heard a heavy thud enter the room.

♦ “TOMMY, GET YOUR CRAZIED BITCH OFF ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” The wannabe officer screamed, pulling you back into that frenzied state, the lamp closing down on his throat in rapid speed.

♦ “FUCKING DIE YOU ASSHOLE!” you cried, expecting blood to gush onto your countenance after tears blurred your vision fully, fighting against the wave of bad remembrances that this man brought upon you, but nothing happened.

♦ Instead your arm was caught into an iron shackle and your whole body flew against something hard, huge and moving, breathing rapidly, unevenly, in a panic. “Let me go…” you whispered, eyes regaining focus for a second, still filled with that familiar bloodlust, but the wall behind you still breathed, unwilling to let you lash out. “THOMAS GODDAMIT LET ME GO!” you roared, your brain recognizing the Behemoth by his smell and presence, as well as the lingering threat of iron that always followed wherever he went. The scent of blood.

♦ Hoyt had gotten up and was sneering at you, only fueling your fire. “Good, damn it Tommy, that whore almost cut my thr–” A thundering hit shook the room, moving the air and silencing the old bastard, who followed it to it’s source, Thomas’ fist and a new hole in the wooden wall. “What in tarnation…?” The sheriff breathed and once his met the piercing gaze of the dark haired man, only fear remained on his pale face. The youngest Hewitt’s rage silencing everybody, even you, as you let your head hang, no longer struggling against your lover’s hold.

♦ Then came a voice, but one that nobody expected to hear, rasping, struggled, low, a growl of an agitated beast. “ **LE–AVE…** ” Thomas managed to order, his eyes predatory and body protective, throat already hurting for forcing the letters out. 

♦ There was a hesitance to Hoyt’s response, but soon enough he left the scene, breathing curses under his nose, going god knows where. Reading the room, Luda Mae took the handles of Monty’s wheelchair and rolled out of the house’s heart quietly, leaving the two of you alone, listening for the second click of the door, announcing their leave. 

♦ The moment that happens, you’re being forcefully turned around and with a loud thud one of Thomas’ knees hit the wooden floor, his large frame kneeling before you, sharp, angry eyes focused on you as you try to look away, one strong hand gripping against your jaw to turn you towards him.

♦ And you do, tears storming out of the corners of your eyes, everything in your stance pointing to anxious anger and fear.

♦ He never manhandled you like that, it wasn’t needed, but attacking his family, even IF it was just Hoyt, was the line that you should never cross.

♦ “Let me go, Tom.” you sneer through your teeth, still shaking and sobbing, he only gives you a shake of his head and his other hand finds it’s place on your shoulder, gripping enough to bruise as the man forgets to check his own strength, too focused on the alien emotion behind your eyes.

♦ “LET ME GO!” you roar, flinching from pain, but he still refuses, the pressure forcing you to fall onto him and you realize you’ve been struggling against his pull. “Thomas!” you cry, tugging on his shirt around his broad back, his grip loosening and now a palm pressing you into him, silently telling you to calm down. A hiccup escapes you, body trembling, as rage fades into sadness and that bring forth clarity, that then turns to fear as the realization of your actions hits you like an arrow to the neck and you suffocate in it, pulling, whimpering and nuzzling into the giant holding you safe, telling you it’s fine without words, letting his relaxed body speak for him, already understanding what happened, he was a very good listener and your breath told him everything.

♦ You’ve told him before about your life, about your father’s abuse and how those harsh words could bring something dark out from inside you, that you were sent away to your grandmother for it and how it haunted you every night, your gasps of terror waking him up every time to hush your sleeping self, not even aware you needed him.

♦ This time was no different and you relaxed under his touch, one of his hands petting your messed up hair and the other holding your waist, gently, as if you could shatter under the lightest of his touches.

♦ He knew Hoyt was horrible for you, brought up those dark memories and that he should’ve been there the moment he heard his scream, stop him before all this happened, but he was busy with the last victims, a useless excuse that brought only guilt and shame to the pit of his stomach.

♦ “I’m sorry, Tommy…” your words met with a small nod from him, his heavy breath pointing that he understood. His own rage was too much sometimes, but he’d only ever lash out on the victims or himself, the many scars on his body being proof of that, but he’d never tell anybody, it’s better that people thought it was from the meat’s struggle to remain human.

♦ “I just… I hate him so much… He’s just like…” he made a hushing sound, shifting you slightly, one of his arms moving beneath your buttocks, and lifting you up, as the other still held your head, pulling it gently towards his face, planting a soft kiss into your forehead, the leather of his mask scratching you slightly, but you didn’t care, whimpering at the softness of his touch.

♦ He brought you upstairs to your room, sitting onto your bed and only then letting you off him, to fall onto the soft covers, hugging into them instead in instinct. Thomas stayed a while longer, letting his thick fingers run through your hair, his thumb collecting your falling tears occasionally, a low humming sound resonating in his chest while he waited for you to switch off fully, sinnging his mother’s lullably in the only way his body allowed him to.

♦ Then at no less than 10 minutes of attending your need for comfort, he stood up, looking down at the hand that shoot up to his in desperate fear and he smiled, slipping it off lazily, kneeling down to brush a lock of hair from your image and planting a kiss on your nose, before standing back up and signing to you in his own way, that he’d be back soon.

♦ “Okay… I’ll wait for you.” your voice croaked, tired from everything that happened and he huffed in approval, closing your door behind him.

♦ Now he had an old man that needed to be taught some god damned MANNERS.

♦ For once Thomas would be the one to teach somebody discipline in this house and he knew damn well that he didn’t even need to use violence to achieve that.

♦ Hoyt was a pussy, after all.


	2. Breakdown PT-2

**_Michael Myers (OG):_ **

♦ The very moment the infamous Shape of Haddonfield had spared your life on that fateful Halloween night you knew that your existence would get a whole lot harder.

♦ You’ve read Doctor Loomis’ book, it created a clear image of this being before you in your head, this devil, who took people’s lives to satisfy some gross urge inside himself, some repressed emotions, some perversion, who knew.

♦ Yet as the man with the devil’s eyes moved into your house and you got to spend time with him, willingly or not, you learned there was more to him than the psychiatrist claimed. It was hard to tell what exactly you saw in him, it might’ve been pure Stockholm syndrome after being forced to stay indoors for a week just after meeting him, but you grew a bond with this murderer.

♦ It clearly wasn’t love, but rather adoration, maybe friendship, it was impossible to decide, really, somehow you doubted there was a title for what you two had, so you just decided to call it a voluntary hostage situation.

♦ It was stupid and Michael just sighed heavily through his mask when you’ve told him about the name, but it was SOMETHING.

♦ And you needed a lot of somethings to deal with him, with who he was and what hiding you at your place made you. 

♦ You’ve suffered sleepless nights because of it, all too aware what was going on when Michael was gone, noticing all the missing knives, the axe from your shed, the rope, even the blade from your lawnmower. You’d stand up in the morning only to find his bloody coveralls on the top of your dark clothing, ready for washing, while he was walking around in your ex’s pants.

♦ But even though your mind told you of all the atrocities this man committed, you couldn’t pull away from him. Something keeping you in place and you feared it was the anxious awareness that if you betrayed him, he’d know, he’d find you and he’d end you in a heart beat.

♦ Each day your sane mind told you to call the police and get under witness protection, get away from this soulless monster, start anew and once you’re old and already satisfied with the life you’ve led, you can write a book about it and live the rest of your days in luxury from your sales.

♦ But it wasn’t that easy, because the twisted part of your self was attracted to this now familiar danger. His body, his touch and his voice, only sounding for you, dark and raspy, making you tremble whenever he called out your name.

♦ You craved his dark affection, his toxic touch and those piercing eyes gazing into you with a primal possessiveness to them. He had marked you his way too many times.

♦ And within the walls of the house you used to feel at home in you felt lost, starring into the pool of red beneath your feet, still shuddering from what happened, your gut clenching at the realization that it had been the second time, too.

♦ He killed someone in front of you. 

♦ Yet this time you felt nothing, an empty, raging void sucking your heart in, as you zoned out of everything, not even able to think, an empty husk.

♦ There was some distant sensation, something dark pulling forward, a part of you tried to push it away, but it was weak and as you heard the floor boards behind you creak, it lost.

♦ “Michael… Can you… kill me?” you asked, voice devoid of emotion, cold and distant, lost, without purpose and sitting before a window you didn’t notice his reaction, the way his body stuttered, head tilting and brows furrowing under the mask. He never had it in him to take it off in front of you for longer than a minute.

♦ And you noticed it starring back at you, unmoving and that brought a tired half-smile towards your pale face, a breath of a broken laugh leaving your chest, but not mouth, giving your body a single shake. 

♦ Of course he wouldn’t take it off, why would he, for some stupid play thing like you? You were too stupid to even understand why he wore it in the first place, with his looks he could have anyone he wanted, but he settled for you, why? You were pretty sure it was only because you hadn’t annoyed him that much when he tried to kill you, he just thought you were simple and stupid, perfect to use and throw away once he got bored, but now you wished so hard that he’d get it over with and move on.

♦ “Michael, I’m tired.” you murmured, and if listening to your words your brain let the wave of exhaustion wash over your face, body and soul, letting that one feeling go, your hands grasping at your hair, again blind to the twitch in his hands.

♦ “I’m grateful that you let me live then and… I adore you in a way I guess, though don’t ask me why, I don’t really understand myself.” you didn’t see him, but heard his footsteps, coming closer, but slowly, almost hesitantly. But you were sure he was just mocking you for being weak in front of him, drawing out your anxiety, the other feeling that slipped through the iron curtain your mind had set.

♦ “I just can’t handle it anymore, I know I’m pathetic, a coward, but I’ve been bearing with your… tendencies for so long… I’ve accepted you because there’s some fucked up part of me that wants to be with you but… I can’t handle being your toy, Michael… not anymore. I have feelings, too many of them, and they just… “ you didn’t get to finish, as The Shape pulled at your shoulder harshly towards him. 

♦ His throat clenched when you didn’t even make a sound, your tired, blank stare welcoming him instead. “Please, Michael. I can’t risk everything for someone who can never care for me.“ you spoke still, the darkness in your heart leaking, drop by drop, filling you to the brim as you smiled still, letting tears run down your cheeks. And at the angle he held you at you couldn’t even see the anger his eyes conveyed, but you could sense it. “I know this isn’t your fault.” And all too suddenly it was gone. “But I need you to let me go now. You’ll find someone better, prettier, maybe smart enough to give you enough stability to take get rid of this mask… Because god, you know I’m just a dumb little thing.” you huffed a laughter and yet he was still, unmoved, just like he always was, so you risked it, grabbing his hand and pushing your neck into it, anger overtaking your eyes. “Just fucking finish the job, Myers.” you cried, closing your eyes the moment his fingers tightened around you neck, squeezing tight. 

♦ And the feeling of relief in your gut was just sickening.

♦ Yet as you waited for your pipes to close, for a snap of your neck, for the stinging pain of his knife, nothing came. Instead your head spun with the sudden sensation of both of your cheeks being grabbed, painfully, but almost gently.

♦ You dared to open your eyes and froze instantly.

♦ **“No.”** Michael spoke from above you, digging his nails into your soft skin, his expression fixed into pure rage and you gulped. **“You’re mine.”** The growling of his voice made you tremble, eyes tearing up once more, landing on his rough fingers. **“And you will be till the day I die.”** He pressed his forehead against yours, his blue eye making your very souls shiver as it’s gaze connected with your own, letting you soak in the pure obsessiveness of it’s nature.

♦ And you nodded gently, struggling to catch air, clawing at his dark shirt in a desperate attempt to ground yourself to something, anything.

♦ And for once, Michael reached out to you without the intent to harm, pulling you into his chest and sitting still, letting you steal just of tiny bit of his emotion.

♦ And you whimpered in joy, realizing just how horrible of a person you were.

**_Bubba Sawyer:_ **

**♦** You didn’t mean to scream.

♦ Or at least not at the person you did.

♦ Both Drayton and Nubbins looked at you appalled, as their sweetest family member let his head lower, taking in your words.

♦ This whole day was horrible from the start, you waking up with a headache, no motivation, the old man calling you down to trick you into feeding grandpa, then Nubbins came, insisting on showing you his knife and attempting to cut you with it, much to Drayton’s disapproval. 

♦ You’ve been walking around irritated as all hell the whole day, but once dinner rolled on, everything was just too much. Four screaming, kicking people were shoved towards the table and sat down, much to their protest, muted by the duck tape around their heads.

♦ Then Nubbins decided that it would’ve been a great idea to rip the gags off! With a knife! Laughing maniacally through the whole thing and the screams that mixed in with it soon after really didn’t help your migraine, neither did the ceremonial smashing heads in with a hammer, as Drayton missed on purpose to scare the poor, poor girl that was chosen to be first.

♦ And of course somebody had to wiggle out of the rope and hold a knife to your back, not realizing that you could, in fact, defend yourself by grabbing a plate and smashing it in his face.

♦ Then there was that chainsaw, oh, it was family, alright.

♦ Family of loud, annoying noises swearing to rip your poor brain to shreds, because there were no pain killers ANYWHERE in the house, of course there wouldn’t be! Drayton took them almost every day to ease his back pains, even though everybody knew damn well he was just tense and needed to find somebody to massage him, because neither you nor Nubbins would do it and Bubba… was a wild card.

♦ The poor boy.

♦ He just caught you at your worst moment, when you were about to tip over, having noticed that you were agitated the whole day and babbling to you in his sweet, darling voice, asking if you wan”ted to go rest.

♦ And that high pitched series of noises was enough for you to raise your voice.

♦ “CAN’T YOU FUCKING SHUT UP?!” You shrieked, not even pointing the complaint at him, but with the whole situation, it landed right at his heart.

♦ And you were god damn heart broken the moment you realized what you’ve just done.

♦ “Oh no…” he shook slightly, eyes focused on the ground as you stood up from your chair and fretted towards him. “Bubba, baby, I’m so sorry I-I didn’t…” you started, reaching out towards his masked face, but his sudden hold on your hands stopped you, making you look up at him in worry.

♦ He was pouting, but in that way that let you know he was angry and this time it was your turn to hang your head, pure shame flooding your heart.

♦ Bubba’s big, meaty and incredibly warm hand shifted to somehow fit into yours and with annoyed grumbles he pulled you to follow him and you did, ignoring Nubbins singing about you being in trouble.

♦ The big man brought you to your shared room and lightly pushed you onto the bed, making you exhaust a small huff as you hit the springy mattress. You sat up and to your shock you found Bubba kneeling down in front of you, lips still pouting, but head forcing it’s way onto your lap with a dissatisfied whine.

♦ You immediately started stroking his head, giving him small kisses in the process, calming him down as you explained your day to him, hoping he could forgive you.

♦ And when he took his boots off and climbed on the bed with you, pulling your small frame into his strong arms, you felt your whole body soften and tears ran down your cheeks, your whole being getting pulled into the worst crying fit you’ve ever had, even as a baby.

♦ And being the sweetheart that he was, Bubba was soon joining you in your messy love confessions and needy attempts at cuddling, which just ended with you sitting up, legs wrapped around each other’s waists ~~_(which was mostly just Bubba’s body making your disappear, like a true magician)_~~ and falling into a fit of crying, kisses and mumbling.

♦ When Drayton finally came to check on you, you were both asleep, eyes red from all the crying, but grinning like damned fools even while deep in dreams, hugging as much of each other as you could.

♦ And somehow three hours later your migraine was just a thing of the past, your new found motivation leading you to stand up and make everybody a tray of cookies.

♦ They deserved it, those beautiful bastards.


End file.
